“Really?” she asked in fascination, her eyes widening. “That’s unusual.”
“It is.”
“So now four of you have found mates. There are five of you, right? So only one of you is left? Which one? It’s the asshole, right? I bet it’s the asshole. He’d mellow if he’d already found his mate.”
I laughed at the accuracy of her statement as I let the words wash over me. It wasn’t deliberate, how she’d said it. She obviously knew about my brothers and me—which was a bit of a mindfuck if I was being honest—but she hadn’t immediately counted Zeke out when she’d mentioned them. Therewerefive of us, even though one of us was gone.
I would always have four brothers.
“You’re right about the asshole. Chance hasn’t found his mate yet. With the way things are going, I wouldn’t be surprised if she showed up at some point soon. For whatever reason, we’re falling like dominoes.”
“That’s wild,” she said, pulling her legs up so she could cross them. “I bet your parents are thrilled.”
“Not sure if it’s sunk in yet, to be honest.”
Her expression dropped. “Yeah, I can understand that. I’m really sorry about your brother. He was younger, right?”
“Thanks. How the hell did you know that?”
Rosemary laughed a little in embarrassment. “Well, you’re all named in order, right? So, if you’re Daniel, then Zeke would’ve come after you.”
I grinned. “Ambrose, Beaumont, Chauncey, Daniel, and Ezekiel.”
“So I was right!”
“Yeah, you were.”
“I can’t imagine losing a sibling,” she said with a sympathetic frown. “I mean, I literally can’t because I’m an only child, but I don’t know what I’d do if we lost one of my cousins.”
“You lost your mother,” I replied softly.
She smiled halfheartedly. “Yeah, that was bad.”
“I bet.”
“She was sick for a lot of my childhood, but it was still a shock once she was gone. Like, what do you mean I can’t go tell her about my day? What do you mean I broke my arm, and she’s not there to cuddle with? Who the hell am I going to talk to when I’m happy or sad or mad or overwhelmed? My dad did his best, but it obviously wasn’t the same. She was the frigging sun, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“She’s been gone for almost half my life now. It’s weird.”
“How old were you when you lost her?”
“Twelve.” She grimaced. “That was a hard year for me. I was taller and bigger than all the boys in my class. Chubby. I hadn’t figured out how to wear my hair yet, everyone was experimenting with makeup, and I wasn’t really interested, hadn’t started my period, the whole shebang. Then on top of that, my mom died, which just made me even more of an outsider and someone to talk about.”
“That sounds miserable.”
“Iwasmiserable. It’s pretty hard to articulate all the things that are wrong at that age. I was sad and angry and frustrated with the world. It got better, though. Easier to manage. Aunt Halle helped.”
“I’m sorry you went through that.”
“Me too,” she replied simply. She lowered her voice. “Honestly? I’m not even sure who I would be right now if she’d lived. Life would look so different. It’s hard to even imagine. Does that sound bad? I don’t mean that I’m glad she’s gone. If I could choose, she would still be here.”
I reached out and gave her thigh a squeeze. “Of course you would. I didn’t think that’s what you meant. If my brother Zeke wouldn’t have died, I wouldn’t have found you the way I did. The sequence of events that led up to finding you in that garage would’ve never happened. Doesn’t mean I would ever wish for him to be gone.”
Rosemary let out a breath of relief. Reaching back, she pulled her long mass of hair over her shoulder and braided it into a loose rope.
I’d seen plenty of women get ready. I’d showered with them. Watched them put on their clothes and makeup. But nothing had ever felt as intimate as sitting in that dim room watching Rosemary in her pajamas braiding her hair.
